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Ben Ray

Blogging on the road through the Grand Slam of Running




April 24, 2007

Motivation Week Continues...

...I'll confess, I steal ideas from NBA players.

I write stuff on my shoes. Every year.

The first year I ran, I had a Great Aunt and Uncle die unexpectedly less than a week before the race--and the funeral was scheduled for the saturday afternoon of the race. Fortunately for me, it wasnt until long after I was going to be finishedrecovered/showered...so I could still run. I thought it'd be a good way to motivate myself, so I wrote their initals on my week-old shoes.

Of course, I hadn't trained that hard that year, and you talk about a painful, painful race...

Last year...
I was supposed to run the marathon relay with a fraternity team, and lo and behold, it started drying up. As we got down from a five-man team to a four, then, three, and two-man, team, I finally resolved to running the mini, by myself. This was ok, except, I was, you know, not really trained up for this...
My grandfather was in the same fraternity as I was, and the same chapter, and we sequentially list ourselves--they're called roll numbers. So I put both of them (672, and 1412) on my shoes, which made me feel a little better about the big Beta bailout on me, and even though I hadn't been planning on it, I ran a strong mini, and ended up deciding that day to do what I'm doing this year...

The full Marathon. So what goes on the shoes this year? They've been blank, and I want to put something on there about how running is my therapy...
We'll see. I've got three days.

Today's Quote:
Act like a horse. Be dumb. Just Run.--Jumbo Elliott

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About Me


I'm a senior at Centre College, and I'm double-majoring in criminology and history. This is my third year in the Triple Crown, and after two Kentucky Derby Festival miniMarathons (one without bleeding), I thought it was time for my very first marathon.

To be completely honest, I used to absolutely detest running. Not the way we all do some days, not the way golfers hate golf and throw their clubs into a pond; it hurt, and I saw it as punishment, and as something to be completely avoided at every opportunity. To add to this aversion, I was dating, all though high school, a track and cross country runner, who would respond to queries of, "How was practice?" with things like, "How dare you ask how my practice went!" So this sport hurt AND made you crazy? Count me out, man.

Despite all of that, I was pretty quick. When coerced, I could run a six-minute with what amounted to no physical training at all. So, when a substantially nicer girlfriend asked me to run the Triple Crown and Mini with her during my sophomore year, I said no. This lasted until I noticed my beer belly smiling upwards at me and decided I was wrong. Of course, by then, I was slow. But alas, that's life.

The series lasted longer than our relationship, and I'm reasonably sure that the last time I ever saw that particular girlfriend is Mile 12 of that first miniMarathon. But running has stuck with me ever since, and it's become an integral part of my life. Oddly, I don't have many friends that run; I can't run with a buddy, and I'm still not sure that I can run without an iPod. But I'm obsessed, and three years into this, it shows no signs of going away.




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